Prelude to a Nightmare
by amamiya
Summary: A version of the events in Kyoto through Kenshin's eyes, unfolding as he tells the story to Kaoru and the others. Follows onwards from chapter 165 of the manga.
1. Premonition

_"There's something I want to tell you all... about this battle... from the beginning."_

I was crouched on the rooftop, hidden from view. The cold night breeze whipped past me, tugging at my threadbare gi. Peering into the darkness below, I made out shadows, nothing more. The alley was quiet. I extended my senses. They were coming. I knew it, even before I heard the soft scuff of their sandals, or saw the faint light, cast from a solitary lantern.

The lamp was carried by a single man, and as they came into view, I saw he was also the youngest. With detached curiosity, I studied him. He was tall, much taller than me, and older by a few years. His features were straight, and fine; his bearing aristocratic. I suppose 'handsome' is the right word.

Already I knew he posed me no threat. He was not the target. The man I was to kill walked behind. It was unfortunate for the young man; there was no way I would allow him to escape after he witnessed the impending massacre.

Truly the wrong place at the wrong time.

_Move._

Do not think. It was dangerous to think.

They were talking to each other as they walked, oblivious to the fact that I stood only a few metres away, watching them.

"Kiyosato, you're going to be married next month, aren't you?"

I froze. His name was Kiyosato.

_Getting married._

_Move. Act._

You cannot afford to think. It is not allowed.

"That's right," Kiyosato smiled. His companion grinned; he was obviously fond of the young man. "Marrying your childhood sweetheart... You lucky dog."

"Thank you." They were now walking side by side. They did not hear me as I leapt off the roof. Kiyosato paused for a moment, surprising me. For a split second I thought he had heard me. But that was impossible.

"But I cannot help worrying," he continued, not realising I was now standing behind them with my hand on the hilt of my sword. "In these troubled times, why should I..."

There was a brief instant in which I felt utterly horrified, absolutely terrified at what I was going to do.

"In this world, everyone's trying to find a little happiness."

I crushed the feeling with ruthless control, pushing it down deep within myself.

"If we make a new age through this work of ours, then that's the form that it should take."

No more. It was time to end this. I had a job to do after all. It was time to act, because they were walking away again. A few more steps and…

"You must be Shigekura Jubei." I was surprised at how cold my voice sounded, but I ignored that thought as well. Instead I stared at them as they turned. It pains me greatly to imagine what they must have seen in my eyes at that moment. Perhaps nothing. Perhaps that is why they seemed so terrified.

The man in the centre was my target. Not Kiyosato, not the large man on the left, but Shigekura Jubei of the Kyoto Shoshidai.

As he turned around, the colour draining from his face, I realised he was nothing more than an old man. Frail and defenseless, he never stood a chance.

I did not want to do this.

I had to do this.

They could not move; my sudden appearance had shocked them; frightened them. They were frozen with nervous tension and I had seen their expressions far too often on the faces of other men. Could they read death so clearly in my eyes?

It did not matter. I steeled myself.

"Though I bear you no grudge, for the sake of the new era I must have your deaths." It was the closest that I could come to an apology, but none of them would ever realise it. All they could do was stare. Kiyosato appeared the most shaken of the three. The other two men were a little more experienced; a little more hardened. Kiyosato hadn't even been able to take up a defensive stance.

_Getting married._

He was sweating; he was shaking. Poor Kiyosato.

It had to be done.

"Who are you?" demanded Shigekura's guard, breaking the deadly silence. I had marked him as an experienced fighter the moment I saw him. He started to glare at me, but could only manage a glance before averting his eyes. My expression did not change one whit.

"Choshuu Ishin Shishi," I told them, seeing horrified recognition dawn in their eyes. "Himura Battousai."

Three hands fell to three sword hilts. They knew what to do.

Fight or die.

The big man; the bodyguard, was the first to draw his sword. He was also the first to die. A single upwards stroke of my katana meant that for a split second it rained blood. He had been slow, I thought absently as I felt the warm wetness on my hands. Shigekura was next in line. He would die. It was already decided, and in that instant, I think he must have become resigned to his fate, for as I bore down on him he did not move; did not bother to fight back; just stared at me with bulging eyes.

I aimed for the head, thrusting my blade downwards, going through the final motions of a ryu tsui sen which ended in a violent spray of blood and the corpse of Shigekura falling to the ground. I did not bother to look back. He was dead, that was all that mattered.

I hadn't yet finished.

_No witnesses._

Kiyosato Akira had been unfortunate to be with them. Now he was backed up against a wall, trembling.

"Sh... Shigekura-san!" he yelled in disbelief. "Ishiji-san!" They were dead and Kiyosato's life was slipping through his hands.

I ran forward. It would be a quick kill.

"Gah!" To my surprise he blocked. I had come against him with lightning speed, and he had blocked. I looked up into his eyes and saw, for the first time, the true measure of his spirit.

But spirit alone cannot save a man from death. Too bad for Kiyosato.

"Give up," I told him, trying to impose my will. For a moment, I thought I had succeeded.

No such luck. Here was a tougher opponent than any I had faced in a long time. Our blades were still locked, so I twisted my sword, reversing the direction of the thrust. Caught off guard, Kiyosato stumbled backwards. He corrected his stance and lifted his head to glare at me. It was almost with regret that I attacked him again.

_No witnesses._

He had to die.

Our blades met with a soft clang. He was managing to block my attacks through sheer effort of will more than anything else. Kiyosato might not have been as accomplished a swordsman as my other two victims, but he had outlasted them by far.

This was cruel, too cruel. I decided to end it. He was pale, and sweat was streaming down his face. I was not even breathing heavily. It was too unfair.

"Ooooh!" He charged at me; perhaps he had been thinking the same thing. All I knew at that moment was that I could kill him. I did not move much, just stepped out of the way and angled my blade downwards, making a smooth, killing stroke.

Kiyosato's charge faltered. I became aware of my heart, the beats slow and even. Time slowed, etching the expression on his face into my mind. The world froze into stiff lines, drawn with terrible clarity. As I followed through, I became aware of a strange, burning sensation... pain.

He fell to the ground, but I did not really notice, for I was too preoccupied with the single vertical slash which had appeared on my cheek. Kiyosato had wounded me? I hadn't noticed. Amazing, that his blade could even reach me. I looked down at my opponent who was now sprawled on the ground, framed by a splash of red.

He had... _cut me_? Tentatively, I brought my hand up to the wound and the sudden pain, the warm feel of blood, made me think.

Poor Kiyosato. He hadn't stood a chance against me in this life. It really was unfair...

No. I shouldn't think like that. Not ever. Act, don't think.

It had been necessary.

Refusing to look at the slain Kiyosato any longer, I turned on my heel and walked away.

"Die... don't want to... die..."

I thought I heard something, but then I shook my head. Kiyosato was dead. I was just imagining things.

_Don't,_ I told myself, strangling my emotions.

_It was necessary._

He was going to marry her.

"I... would have loved her... forever..."

Still alive? Surely...

I spun around and without hesitation plunged my blade deep into his chest. His words... I didn't realise it at the time, but I had wanted them to stop. Terrible words. The mutterings of a dying man pierced me more deeply than any sword could.

Enough. My sword was stained crimson with blood. He was dead. The cut on my cheek... it hurt.

Enough. I turned around, sensing that there was someone around the corner, watching me. Two people, full of nervous ki. They stepped into view, and I recognised two of my Ishin 'minders'.

"We've come to check," said one of them as I wiped my sword. I nodded.

"Thank you for examining them." My tone was polite, but distant. There was no room for conversation between us and I turned to leave. The minder's eyes widened suddenly as he stared at my face.

"Your cheek!" he exclaimed. "It's..."

I glared at him. "It's nothing."

"But he reached your face with a sword... He must have been very good."

I shook my head at his lack of understanding. He hadn't seen the look in Kiyosato Akira's eyes.

"No. His skill itself was nothing." The two men looked at me as if I was utterly mad; they had not been expecting this. "But his will to live..." I sheathed my sword with a barely audible click, "was incredible." I turned my back on them, wanting to get away from that place. The smell of blood... it was becoming too much for me to bear. "I'll leave the rest to you."

It was too much...

Almost as an afterthought, I glanced back at Kiyosato's dead body. A strange regret washed over me; regret that I couldn't have known him as something other than an enemy. Remorse came also, but I only allowed myself that feeling for a second. Kiyosato had not been a proficient swordman, but his spirit... that had burned more fiercely than any skill of his.

"May you find happiness in your next life," I murmured. It was all I could say.

It had been necessary.

It was done.

"Did you say something?" My minders truly were on edge, tense and listening for everything and anything. I was a little surprised that they had even heard me.

"No." I did not even bother to look back. "It was nothing."

A few faint snippets of their conversation continued to drift to me on the breeze as I walked away.

_"...will to live... tell that just by crossing swords with someone..."_

_"...killed them all without even blinking..."_

_"...he really is a hitokiri..."_

Terrible words, painful words.

I pretended that I hadn't heard, for their sakes, and for myself. To do otherwise would be madness, and anyway, it was done. I walked away as if nothing had happened, but inside I was screaming.

* * *

Kaoru looked up, meeting Sano's eyes. He nodded once, reassuring her. Her gaze shifted to Megumi, who was stiff, and pale.

They were horrified.

Not of Kenshin, but of what he had just told them; of what he had done. For a while he had plunged them into a terrifying, bloody world. Kaoru had heard stories of the Hitokiri Battousai, but never, ever from Kenshin's own mouth. Somehow, hearing the words from the man himself; her rurouni, was much, much worse than any old wives tale could ever be. It was worse, because of the pain in his voice.

She had not imagined, after so many years, that Kenshin's wounds could still be so raw. But now she realised that they had not healed at all. He had just kept them well bound.

_Oh, Kenshin._ Kaoru looked at him, but he would not meet her eyes. Poor Kenshin.

She had thought, she had imagined, and she had wondered about him, but never, not in a million years, had she known it would be like this. Far, far more disturbing however, was the realisation that this was only the _beginning_ of Kenshin's story. But why with such a bloody, disturbing moment? Kaoru realised, with growing dread, that nothing good was going to come of this...

But what could possibly be worse?

_Himura Tomoe_.

Kaoru realised that her hands had become very cold, and she clasped them together, shivering.

What had happened between Kenshin and Tomoe? Surely he didn't really mean that...

_The wife that I killed with my own hands._

Surely it was just a figure of speech; it hadn't really been Kenshin's fault. The words were just an expression of his guilt.

Kaoru looked at Kenshin again and became very still. It was possible.

_Kenshin… killed Tomoe-san?_


	2. Shadows

_Tenchuu._

It was a word that continued to echo through my mind as I killed. Like a mantra, I used it to keep reminding myself of that most important thing.

_Why?_

Because it was right. Because it needed to be done. I was not the instigator; I was the tool. I had surrendered to them my free will, so they could do with me as they saw fit. Until this war was over, I was not a thinking, feeling human being, but a man with a sword.

Or so I told myself, over and over again.

The truth was, however, that with every drop of blood spilt, with every heart stilled by my blade, with every pair of eyes that continued to stare at me long after they were gone, I was hurting, and the pain was so intense that I didn't recognize it.

So I did what was easiest. Instead of confronting my pain, I ignored it.

I shut myself off, closed up my heart and narrowed my mind.

Have you ever asked yourself why we need to feel pain in the first place? Pain is one of the body's warning mechanisms. If you are hurt, you know that something is wrong with you. To ignore the source of that hurt would be foolish and dangerous.

What I had been doing to myself at that time was incredibly dangerous, although I couldn't see it; couldn't sense that there was something sick inside of me.

Before each assignment, I would steel myself, closing off my mind to everything except for the that which needed to be done. Then, like a whirlwind, I would slice my way through my opponents – living, _breathing_ – people, with a relentless fury. The only thing I would leave with afterwards would be bloodied clothes and hands and the memory of terrible, horrified eyes. The eyes were the worst, for they would be burned into the back of my mind. None of them ever stood a chance. With the exception of Kiyosato, they were unable to so much as scratch me.

The kills would be clean, but I would feel dirty, and my hands would feel clammy and sticky. The viscous feel of drying blood would always make me feel sick and I would scrub my hands afterwards with an almost obsessive fury, trying to get rid of the blood… the dried blood was so hard to wash off.

And then when it was time to sleep, I would feel a slight sense of dread.

I knew I had to sleep. It was impossible for anyone to function properly without a decent sleep, however it also involved me lowering my guard. Not my physical guard; I always slept with my sword at my shoulder and my ear half-open for any sounds of attack. It was the emotional guard that was the most painful to lower. Because then the eyes would come back to stare at me; dreadful and accusing.

This – the sheer mindlessness of it - went on for some months, until I was merely a shell of what I had been. A part of me had died, but I was no longer able to care about things like that. I lived solely to carry out a job, and that was no life at all.

It was on one of these such nights that I was washing my hands in a bucket at the back of the inn. It was late at night, and I thought no-one had seen me return. The smell of blood would not escape me, no matter how hard I tried to rid myself of it. I must have been making a little noise as I thrust my hands into the water, scrubbing ferociously, for I did not seem to notice that one of Katsura's men – a man called Izuka – had been approaching until he appeared in the doorway.

"Oh Battousai, there you are." He did not seem to realize that I disliked being called by that name. I did not protest however, for there was really nothing that I could do about it. To him, to the other Ishin soldiers and to the common folk on the street, I was not Himura Kenshin but Hitokiri Battousai, and I couldn't very well go around demanding that people call me by my proper name now then, could I?

And besides, I had overheard a few of the men saying one day that the name was a good thing, for it gave me – the _real _me - a certain kind of anonymity. They also mentioned that it was the kind of name that a legend could be built upon; a legend that would strike fear into the hearts of men. That was what they wanted after all… to create fear.

I don't think I realized, at that moment, how much I would come to loathe that name.

I looked up from the bucket of crimson tinged water and Izuka smiled. "Come quick," he urged, oblivious to my current state of mind. "Katsura-san is waiting."

I'm sure that you know who Katsura-san was. Katsura Kogoro, the young leader of the Choshuu Ishin Shishi. The man who gave the orders. My boss.

I left the bucket with reluctance and dried my hands by wiping them on my hakama. Izuka led me to a small secluded garden behind the inn. Katsura was waiting for me there, flanked by Katakai, his bodyguard. In his hand was a cup of sake. Outwardly, he was calm and relaxed, however as he looked at me I could see a flicker of darkness in his gaze. I sensed a troubled soul.

"It's been a while since we've been able to meet," he greeted, a small, controlled smile crossing his face. I received the impression that he was trying to… appease me, or something to that effect. "Are you doing well?"

How could I reply to that? I was no longer capable of social niceties; of 'small talk,' as some would call it. What did Katsura want to hear? Such things didn't matter to me any more.

"Yes…" I replied, without so much as a pause. "I'm killing them just fine." My voice was flat and cold, bordering on impertinence. Beside me, Izuka shifted, uneasy in Katsura's presence.

"Hey hey," he chided, not liking my tone.

_Show a little respect…_ He left the words unspoken, but I knew what he meant.

Respect? I had given this man my sword. That was the most respect that I could possibly give to anyone. It would have been so easy for me to leave the cause at any time, however I believed in what Katsura was doing. He and I, we essentially wanted the same thing.

What more could one ask? My tone, my attitude; they were simply signs of the fact that I had shut myself off to _people_.

"What is my assignment tonight?" I demanded, the words clipped, abrupt. I wanted to be gone from their presence. I was tired; even conversation seemed like too much of an effort. Katsura glanced at me and I thought I read unease in his features.

"Well, it's not so important that I'd call it an assignment..."

Not so important? What on earth did the man want, then? I really wasn't in the mood for idle banter, and besides, it was dangerous for me to even be in the presence of Katsura. Violence followed me like a shadow; it was only a matter of time.

"Well if it's not important," I interrupted, "please refrain from calling me."

Katsura's eyes widened at my tone, and beside me, Izuka took a step backwards, raising his hands. My attitude must have been incomprehensible to him.

"Hey!" he exclaimed once more. I wished he would stop with the protests.

I shook my head. "I've assassinated almost a hundred people this past six months," I informed them, my voice cold. "No matter how we hide ourselves, the Shogunate is beginning to sense that we are here. It isn't a good plan for me to be near the Choshuu hantei."

At this, Katsura' s eyes began to narrow. He wasn't the kind of leader who would discount first hand information, and he knew that I wasn't the type to exaggerate, or believe fanciful rumours.

"The Bakufu forces are growing stronger day by day," I informed him, noting both the look of disbelief on Katakai's broad features, and Izuka's now blank face. "Especially the Wolves of Mibu…"

"The Shinsengumi…" Katsura's tone told me that he was well aware of them.

"We have yet to cross swords," I continued, "but they could be the strongest of the Bakufu's weapons."

Katakai was looking at me with disdain. "What could that ragtag crowd possibly - " he snorted, before Katsura held up a hand to silence him.

"I understand." His words were measured; shaped with gratitude. "We'll look out for them."

I nodded. Beside me, Izuka was almost quivering. There was a nervous energy around the man that I didn't like.

"Well, what about the assignment?" he demanded. It seemed that he was more anxious to learn what Katsura wanted of me than I was myself. As the guarded smile returned to Katsura's face, I realised the 'assignment' would not involve murder.

"Actually, tonight during the Gion festival," he admitted, "there's to be a secret council held at a certain inn. Toshiwara and Miyabe-san are expected to attend."

Ah. Perhaps…

"You need a body-guard?" It was the first thing that had come to my mind, so I was confused when Katsura shook his head.

"Well, no." Still, he wore that smile. "I was wondering if you would join us."

That was the second conclusion that I had reached, however it was so remote that I hadn't seriously considered it. Beside me, Izuka grinned widely.

"That's great!" he exclaimed. "Hey, your name could go down in history – "

I ignored him. "I must decline," My tone was flat. Izuka's wide smile faded, turning into a look of disbelief as I stared at Katsura. They didn't seem to understand that this was exactly what I _didn't _want. Recognition… for what? If I did decide to attend that meeting, then the moment I stepped into that room I would be greeted with wide eyes and quickly masked expressions of shock. Their eyes would flicker up and down; from my swords to my face, and back again, and for a frozen moment, they would cease to talk.

It happened; there was nothing that I could do to stop the way that men reacted to my presence.

They would then resume, perhaps act as if I wasn't even there, as if everything was normal, but always I would sense an undercurrent of fear.

Recognition… for what – the murder of hundreds?

This was why I didn't belong in such a place. I couldn't talk to people; I couldn't join Toshiwara and Miyabe and Katsura and the others and assume an air of righteousness.

I _killed _people, for Kami's sake.

I was Hitokiri Battousai; I wasn't supposed to exist in the same circles as these men. They were the commanders and leaders; the movers and shakers. I was simply their honed blade; a killer, and nothing more. If the rest of the Ishin soldiers weren't invited to the council, then I didn't see any reason for myself to be present either. I was also a soldier; I didn't deserve any special praise or accolades. I belonged in the darkness.

"It's easier if a hitokiri keeps to the shadows," I told Katsura, and for a brief instant, I thought I saw a glimmer of apology in his eyes. "And I'm not interested in history or honour."

"H… hey!" I ignored Izuka's gasp of disbelief.

"I'm here to carry out a job; that is all." I did not bother to acknowledge Katsura as I turned to leave.

As I walked away, there was nothing but silence, save for the chill brush of the wind. For this I was grateful. My refusal to attend the council; I did not regret it at all, as there was not, on my part, any great desire to attend in the first place. Let Katsura Kogoro think what he liked. I was simply cold, and tired.

* * *

_But Kenshin…_ Yahiko wanted to interrupt, for he had so many questions. _How did you get there in the first place? Why did they keep… pushing you like that?_

__He didn't dare however, because of the look on Kenshin's face… sad, miserable, but determined…

Kenshin needed to tell the rest of his story. You didn't interrupt a man when he looked like that.

_Kenshin…_

Yahiko had known… yeah, he had known that Kenshin was Battousai back in the days of the revolution, however he had never imagined that it had been like _that._

Kenshin hadn't had much of a say in the matter really, Yahiko realized. He had been acting – _killing –_ on behalf of other people. Yahiko had always imagined things a little differently; the legendary Hitokiri Battousai, carving the new Meiji era with the sharp edge of his sword; defeating the evil Shogunate…

the Ishin patriot Himura Kenshin…

He had never thought about what it would be like to actually kill a man. He had never even considered what it would be like to kill a hundred men.

_How had __**Kenshin**__ dealt with a thing like that?_

He had shut himself off. Yahiko realized there was no other way he could have survived. He had become the real Battousai. Not an evil, terrifying demon, seven-feet tall and wielding a blazing sword, but an almost soulless man. Yahiko wasn't sure which one was more frightening.

And he still… _still _carried the scars of that. He had just hidden them so well Yahiko had never been able to see it before. Yahiko remembered, with a slight shudder, the first and only time that he had seen Battousai in the flesh. It was the day that the bastard policeman Saitou had come and challenged Kenshin to a fight.

Yahiko recalled seeing Kenshin get beaten up badly, and for a while he had thought that Kenhsin was going to lose; was going to die.

Then, something had changed within him; something had _snapped_, and when Kenshin looked up, Yahiko had seen, for the first time, what must have terrified them during the Bakumatsu. He wasn't sure that even Kenshin himself was aware of the impact of those awful, flat amber eyes. It was like seeing a calm summer sky suddenly turn dark with the fury of an oncoming storm; the storm was relentless and cold, cruel and unstoppable.

And now, finally, Yahiko was beginning to understand what had eaten away at Kenshin's soul to cause such a change.

"You are probably wondering how things came to this, after only six months," continued Kenshin, after what seemed like an endless pause. In reality, it had only been a few seconds, however the sluggish silence had dragged through the stillness while each of them tried to gather their thoughts. Yahiko glanced around and noticed that Kaoru, Sano, Megumi and Tsubame were as shocked; as speechless, as spellbound as he was. Kaoru in particular, had turned pale.

"Well it all started," continued Kenshin, "the day that I came down from the mountain."


	3. Resolve

They'd been there for a week, and I'd been watching them; listening to them speak. The Kihetai recruited from all walks of life. There were samurai and trained warriors amongst the farmers.

Every day, after my training with Hiko-sensei, I would sneak down from the mountain to observe them. Some were skilled, some barely knew how to hold a sword. Concealed in the bushes, undetected, I could hear them talking of battle.

_A new era_.

There was no room for the weak in the old world. Something would have to give. I wanted _change_. Our country had been rooted in the past for hundreds of years. The strong thrived, and built their families, passing down wealth and power to their sons. The peasants remained peasants, bound to the earth and their masters.

I had seen the masters turn on slaves before. I knew what it was to feel helpless; at the mercy of another.

They had slaughtered my mother, my father, my brothers and sisters; the flesh and blood I had buried with my own hands. I had been five at the time. How I survived, I do not know.

But they had left me; their mistake. I would destroy them. I would smash the very core of that which had made them. Or so I thought. It was what I desired.

_I wanted change. _

Watching the men practise their sword craft, I realised with some surprise that I was able to predict their moves with ease. I could see, with clarity, their weaknesses and mistakes. They appeared clumsy and slow.

But they were all allowed to fight. The determined expressions on their faces struck something deep within me. These men were willing to die for change. They would sacrifice their freedom for a higher purpose; something which would continue long after they died. They thought not of themselves, but of their families, their towns, their country. The black ships had come and within the space of a year, weakened the foundation of a centuries-old structure. Now it was on the brink of collapse.

I could help to bring about its destruction. They could use my sword.

Their leader was a man named Shinsaku Takasugi. The first time I'd seen him, I'd been struck by the way he looked at his recruits. He treated them all equally, without regard for class or station. As I heard him say: "Birth or status means nothing. Anyone can join the Kihetai if they have the ambition or strength."

He was a man of the new world; in his eyes, there was no such thing as distinction by birth. You earned your place in this world through determination and ability. Nothing was impossible.

All week I'd been thinking about change. Shishou had noticed something different in me, for he had grown bitter and angry whenever I started to talk about the ideas that were taking hold. They had been there for some time, floating in my mind, disjointed, and it was only once I saw the men at practice in the fields below that they took root and began to grow.

They consumed me in a way which almost destroyed me, in the end. Somewhere along the lines, my fervent hope became blind faith.

I was to become the catalyst for change. Of that I was certain.

On the day I left my shishou, I was still angry. He hadn't taken my decision well, and Hiko-sensei is not a man who knows how to plead.

So he'd exploded, and I'd exploded. We'd traded harsh words.

In a way, his reaction had allowed me to break free. In any other situation, I would have been filled with remorse, but I was young, and the fuse had been lit. My thoughts were engulfed by these new ideas. And the rage had helped me disobey my master. Without it, I may never have left the mountain.

I felt I would never return, and I didn't care. Of course, this was before I learnt the meaning of regret.

I finally understand, all too well, why shishou had been so enraged.

This realisation has come at a price. It has taken me far too long, and I have caused much pain and suffering, but some truths can only be learnt over a lifetime. In many ways, he was right. In some ways I will always be a _baka deshi_. But then again, there is only so far regret can take you.

What's done is done.

The anger in my heart fed my will. It made me strong against loss, and I was determined to push forward; to be the instrument of a revolution. It didn't take long to convince them.

When I appeared in the field, offering my blade to the Kihetai, I was fourteen years old, but I couldn't have looked more than twelve. I suppose the long sword at my side must have appeared a bit ridiculous. The men seemed to think so, for as I approached I heard laughter. Three swordsmen approached me, amusement glimmering in their eyes. One of them stood with his katana resting on his shoulder, his posture careless and unguarded.

"The kid brought his own sword," he laughed, and his friends chuckled. "Give it a try, kid."

"I'll give you a ryo if you cut it in half," added his companion. They were patronising me. I ignored them and approached the practice pole, which consisted of a thick log wrapped with many lengths of rope. A quick sou ryu sen sent the top half of the log flying, leaving a clean slice across the wood. It had been far too easy.

Needless to say, the laughter died down after that, although I never did receive my ryo. It didn't matter. My attention was already drawn to a man who stood by the edge of the field. He'd been watching me with calm, dark eyes ever since I appeared. As I sheathed my sword, our gazes met and he held mine.

I remember that glance all too well. There was a depth of intelligence in his eyes, one I couldn't even begin to fathom. He stood still for a few minutes, and I felt I could not move. The clearing was silent; men stood to the sides, staring at us in anticipation.

It felt as if my future was being written out before my very eyes.

What I didn't know was that it was being written in blood.

"I'm taking this boy to Kyoto," Katsura Kogoro had declared. I said nothing; just looked up at him, my eyes large with hope. My heart beat a little faster, in excitement.

Later, we discussed my future at a nearby inn. Katsura-san was seated across from me, regarding me with his calculating eyes. I was still too young to even guess what the man was thinking. I have to admit he intimidated me, a little. And yet his expression was never without warmth. Shinsaku-san sat to the side, strumming his shamisen.

I was nervous.

"So that was the Hiten Mitsurugi Ryuu." Katsura-san sipped his tea while I stared at him, wide-eyed. "I've heard of it, but I didn't know it truly existed." He paused for quite a while. I felt as if I were being dissected. He leaned forward, and I thought it was strange that his eyes should be filled with concern.

"Let me ask you something," he said, his voice low. "Have you ever killed a man with this Hiten Mitsurugi Ryuu?"

"No." I hadn't. I could not comprehend what it would be like to do that; to steal a man's life. At that point I hadn't even grasped the terrible potential of the Hiten Mitsurugi. It was a true killing style, developed to slay men with speed and efficiency. The perfect sword technique for a hitokiri.

Katsura didn't look surprised. He had been expecting this. For some reason I felt his next question pained him. "But, do you think you _could_?"

I didn't even hesitate. The idealism in me was too strong. It wiped away any fear of consequences. "If with my own dirty sword and the lives I take," my heart was pummeling. "I could pave the way for a new era in which all can live in peace…"

It was my desire. For _change_. Katsura-san had what he wanted. A perfect hitokiri. With the perfect technique. Who would suspect a mere boy?

He nodded. "I see." There was sadness in his tone, but also resolve. "We're leaving for Kyoto first thing in the morning. Take a room upstairs and rest."

That was it. The beginning.

* * *

The moonlight danced across Kenshin's face, playing with his features, casting small shadows and planes. His eyes were large and violet, shot through with startling blue, and… _amber_. There was a depth in that gaze which made Sanosuke feel young in comparison. Although he and Kenshin were only a few years apart, he suddenly felt as if Kenshin were very, very old. And his past was written in his eyes. For the first time, Kenshin was allowing them to see it _all_.

Sano clenched his fists, thinking of the fourteen year old boy. The naive, idealistic Kenshin, who was, in many ways, still the same. A child had come into the world with thoughts of change.

He had carved his truth with a blade, adding more lives to a history which was already soaked in blood. Would it always be this way? Had Kenshin achieved anything at all? Was all that grief and suffering for _nothing_?

Sano shook his head. The new era had come, and things _had_ changed. Japan was still changing. Too bad Kenshin had given so much of himself to see it through.

_Fourteen years old_? It was impossible. What had Katsura Kogoro done? Something so ruthless...

"It wasn't fair," he growled, his voice soft. Kenshin turned, his features once again blank.

"What do you mean, Sano?"

"I mean Katsura; how could he take a _kid_ and ask him to do what you did? You were only a boy, Kenshin." Anger seeped into Sano's words.

"I know, Sano." Kenshin nodded, refusing to look at the others. He cast his eyes downward, and Sano could not see his eyes for the curtain of red hair, which threw a shadow across his face. "But in those days, nothing was fair. Katsura-san understood that, and after a while, so did I. The _world_ was unfair, and we treated it accordingly."

Sano swallowed, realising the truth of it. Kenshin wasn't the only one who had been exploited. He had seen it first hand, with the execution Captain Sagara.

The Ishin Shishi, the Bakufu, the Shinsengumi; they had all played by their own rules.

Such was the nature of war.


	4. Sweet Scent, Clouded Thoughts

A year later, I was a mess.

You would not have been able to tell, just by looking at me. Whatever emotion I felt was pushed deep inside. After a while, grief, sadness and guilt became so familiar to me that I could no longer distinguish them. These emotions became so persistent in my daily life that I learnt to ignore them. After a while, I forgot them.

But they would stay with me for a very long time.

My soul was paralysed, and my mind was blank. There was no time to think; the black envelopes told me all I needed to know. It makes me shudder, the way I used to be.

I tried so very hard to keep it all together. I was cold and methodical. I could slay ten, twenty men in a single evening and never flinch. The blood no longer affected me. Its smell was ever pervasive. It lingered in my clothes, it was on my tongue when I ate.

Even sake tasted like blood.

People stayed away from me. At night, after an assignment, I would drink alone. The other Choshuu men were terrified of me. I only had to so much as glance in their direction, and an uncomfortable silence would fall over the room.

It was getting so bad that even the men I sided with feared my sword. They thought I would turn on them for the slightest indiscretion. Every time I passed someone in the hallway, I would sense fear.

It was getting worse.

There was something inside me, a terrible longing, like a dying ember. It threatened to alight and consume me. Part of me wanted it done, finished. It was so, so wrong.

What had I started?

This path I had taken; where was it going? I could see no end to the black envelopes, which were coming almost every night by now. I was Katsura-san's chaos; the madness out of which came divine justice.

On the surface, I was the perfect hitokiri, completely unaffected. My expression would not alter one whit as I sliced through flesh, bone and sinew. My dispassionate manner frightened those who were unfortunate enough to witness my work.

Night after night, they fell, and I kept holding it all together.

They had no idea my mind and soul were on the verge of being torn apart.

No, the only one perceptive enough to see what was happening was the man I had pledged my sword to.

Katsura-san had known me before he had shaped me into Battousai. He alone could see through my cold demeanour. At least, most of the time I believed he could. Perhaps he had seen it before. After all, he had a piercing intelligence and years of experience. I was still only fifteen.

Fifteen, and a hardened brute of a warrior.

Sometimes, I would allow myself a small thought: what if it stopped? I would try to imagine a life of peace, an existence where I could sleep without my hand on my hilt, without having to tune my senses so I would snap awake at the slightest intrusion.

I'm afraid old habits die hard. Even now, I find it difficult to sleep without the sakabatou within reach. However, I can relax enough to ignore the noises outside.

During the Bakumatsu, I was aware of everything, all the time. My perception was stretched to almost inhuman clarity. It was like walking across a taut wire. Everything had to be in perfect balance.

That kind of tension cannot be sustained for very long. There is always the risk that something may break.

But I could not have stopped. If I gave up, all the lives I had taken would be for nothing. Everything taken, nothing gained.

I was fifteen, and a monster. I would sit in the izakaya, alone, drinking sake, tasting blood. I had started this practice about a year ago, after Kiyosato gave me the scar on my cheek; after I had killed him. The sake served to warm me, but it never eased the torment. That was mine to bear, alone.

It was on one of these miserable nights that I first caught it; her scent.

_Hakubai_.

White plum.

I was sitting with my back to the entrance, but her fragrance was all around me. The other men had turned to stare. I could feel her ki, but it was a mystery to me. The aura of women has always been difficult for me to read.

She was cloaked in sadness and… something else.

She sat behind me, but I did not turn to look. I was still breathing in that scent, and trying to figure out what was so strange about the feelings she projected. What kind of woman came to drink in a place like this, alone?

For a few moments we sat together, our backs turned, drinking in silence. We were worlds apart, yet closer than we ever knew.

Then the silence was broken. "Hey woman, come and have a drink with us." Two drunk men had approached her table, slamming a bottle of sake down on the wooden top. It made a hollow thud. I sat still, but I was tense and ready to snap.

"We're Aizu's Ishin Shishi," blurted one of them. I could smell the alcohol on his breath. "We risk our lives day and night for you common people. Drinking with us is the least you could do to thank us!"

"Aizu's on the Bakufu's side, idiots." One of the other patrons corrected him, his voice full of derision. The drunk man spun, about to draw his sword.

"What did you say?" he demanded. I could tell from his ki that he was looking to draw blood. It was the way men became sometimes, when they drank. Sake could bring out the violence simmering beneath.

His challenger froze. He had not been expecting the drunk man to threaten him. Nobody said a word. The swordsman's face split into a grin. His arrogance spilt over, and I felt my irritation rise. "That's what I thought," he snarled. "Stay out of this."

"That was a close one for somebody," sneered his companion.

"It certainly was." They did not realise I was standing behind them. "If you had drawn that sword, you would have been fighting _me_."

The taller of the two, who had been so quick to fight earlier, tried to free his sword, but my hand was already on his hilt, blocking the draw.

"What?" He twisted, trying to free himself, so he could attack. Then he stopped, for he had met my gaze.

"Let me give you some advice." Perhaps the sake had taken effect, for I wasn't as abrupt as usual. My spirits were low, and I was tired. The smell of white plum had clouded my mind. "The violence is only going to get worse. Kyoto is no place for hypocrites. If you value your lives, you should run back to the countryside."

My words were met with raucous agreement from the other patrons. The two men stared at me, unable to move. I wonder what I must have looked like, to be able to silence them like that. I didn't want to stay here any longer. Ignoring them, I apologised to the owner, paid for my drinks, and left.

The scent of _hakubai_ lingered in my nostrils, and the aftertaste of sake was harsh and metallic on my tongue. It reminded me of blood.

I wondered at my temper, which was fraying. Those idiots in the izakaya wouldn't have bothered me before. It was getting worse. I couldn't enjoy sake, and foolish words were driving me to anger.

Something was wrong, and I wouldn't be able to ignore it for much longer. It was as shishou had always said: _if the sake tastes bad, it's proof that there's something sick inside you_.

A nagging thought had dug into my psyche like a thorn, firmly lodged. Perhaps a fragment of it had always existed. Sinister, unsettling doubt.

_Was shishou right?_

All this killing; what if it was for naught?

I quashed the thought, angry at myself. My path was drawn, and it was the right one. The Hiten Mitsurugi was a terrifying weapon. Used for the wrong purposes, it had the potential for disaster. Even wielded with good intentions, it caused untold suffering. Such was the nature of a style based on quick kills.

Freedom from oppression at all costs. That was my burden, my choice. I knew what I wanted from all this. Even now, I still hold on to that belief, although my method has changed somewhat.

Destroy the old traditions, for they are at the root of all inequality. Protect the weak, the defenseless. Kill for the new era.

It wasn't killing; it was mass murder.

_Tenchuu_ was absolute chaos; a whirlwind of madness, and I was at its centre.

* * *

"Ken-san…" Megumi whispered his name, not intending for Kenshin to hear. But he did, and met her eyes. For the first time, she saw the full weight of intelligence behind that glance. Kenshin had always noticed everything, but he seldom gave much away.

She had always had an inkling of this; behind the harmless facade she knew the rurouni was a keen observer, but she had not realised how sharp Kenshin really was.

He was aware of every action, of the people who surrounded him, of their intentions. And yet he glided through life - possessing this awareness - with such perfect, disarming friendliness; sometimes almost to the point of stupidity.

It had frustrated Megumi on occasion, because it made Kenshin the hardest person to read. Only now, that he was letting his guard down, was she beginning to appreciate the true extent of his play-acting.

And yet the humility; the archaic, self-effacing speech and the way he let himself be pushed around… it was also genuine. Kenshin _was_ a clumsy, good-natured rurouni.

Who had once been a perfect killer.

_I could slay ten, twenty men in a single evening and never flinch_.

Megumi could not imagine Kenshin like that, and yet it was all too clear, from the look in his eyes. He had been a hitokiri, driving towards his own destruction.

_Already, at fifteen years of age_.

How had he escaped the madness?


	5. And Then, It Rained

I was being watched. The street in front of me was empty, the swept paving stones blank; almost silver in the moonlight. They absorbed my slow footfalls as I walked, surrounded by a fog of sake and white plum. The night was silent, and I was soundless, but the thoughts crowding my head; these voices were the loudest.

They did not go anywhere, these doubts and recriminations. They raged in a distinct corner of my mind, but I did not let them penetrate any deeper, for fear they might touch my soul. I might as well have been a shadow, empty and transient. Perhaps if I skulked in the dark places long enough, I would merge with the inky blackness, and disappear.

I was fading away. My thoughts were loud, but the silence all around was crushing. Few dared to walk the streets of Kyoto alone at this hour.

They were watching me from the hidden places, but they were poorly concealed. Rash, sake-fueled anger burned bright as a lantern. Underneath this torrent flickered nervousness, and fear. The intent was clear; they would attack as I rounded the corner.

I slowed, trying to delay the inevitable. The two men I had spoken to in the izakaya had shown arrogance and stupidity, but they did not deserve to die. My irritation rose; I should never have let them get to me.

Danger and violence swirled around me like autumn leaves, and those who followed me with rage in their hearts always met with a bitter end. This situation; I did not like it at all. But it could not be helped.

The sound of a sword being unsheathed was unmistakable. I tensed, but continued walking, acting as if nothing were out of the ordinary. The two who were about to attack did not concern me now, for I had sensed another, surfacing from deeper in the shadows.

My would-be attackers were about to meet a bad end. I stood motionless as they emerged, only to be met by another killer. Taken by surprise, the two men gasped.

"You're in the way," he snarled. He had been stalking me from the rooftops, and only now did he drop to the street, his blades naked. Attached to the hilt of one of his swords was a heavy chain; a foolish weapon, for any skilled opponent would soon realise that the restriction of movement worked both ways.

Now one of the poor fools was running towards me, screaming for help. Moments before, he had been plotting with his companion to run me through with a sword.

Time slowed as I watched; as his head split in two. My _real_ opponent had no hesitation in removing the obstacle; there was a spray of red and that was that. The attacker's blade flicked upwards, and there was a rattle as his chain swung around. The man fell to the ground, and I did not even blink. For obvious reasons, death never used to affect me the way it does now.

My attacker was taller than me by a head, and heavy of build. His features were masked; his eyes blank.

_Another hitokiri_. Doubtless, he had been sent by the Shogunate. His target could be none other than myself.

So, it started. As my hit count grew, it was inevitable that the Bakufu would become aware of my presence. I had already been responsible for sending too many of their own to the next world.

However, I hadn't expected this so soon.

"Hitokiri Battousai, right?" And, he knew my name. Their intelligence was good; Katsura-san would not be happy.

"What do you want?" I could not worry about that now. This man had to die, and I would make it quick. The cloud surrounding my thoughts had evaporated; my vision was again clear, my senses finely tuned.

The effects of sake clear very fast when you are threatened with a sword.

"You may play innocent, but I know you. I've been waiting for you here." The Shogunate assassin raised his sword, the chain clinking around his arm. It was looped several times; I estimated it to be a few metres in length. He would try to entrap me with it, but it was a heavy, ungainly thing.

"I will have your life!" The blade and adjoining chain shot out with great force, and there was a loud clang as I deflected it with my katana. Again, he swung and I found myself unable to move, with several metal lengths wrapped around my torso. Rather than waste my energy blocking the chain, I had surrendered to the attack. He had leapt to the roof, and was staring down at me. I felt an elated spike in his ki; he thought he had me pinned.

It was a poor choice of attack. It defied one of the fundamental rules of combat that Shishou had taught me.

_Never give up your sword_.

His was fixed to the end of that ridiculous chain, and it was now within my reach. I did not hesitate. As he leapt from the roof to deliver the killing stroke, the chain which bound me lost all of its tension. His blade was in my hand. I lunged forward, and the katana connected with his shoulder.

I sliced down the entire length of his body, and the blood rained.

The sake that turned into blood; I could taste it again. I could smell it. Instant death; the body torn apart. Nothing else can match that acrid scent.

There was so much of it, staining my face, my clothes, my hands. The familiar warmth; vicious medium in which I worked. Death and all that came with it were never far away.

And there was something else…

_Hakubai_.

I turned slowly, surrounded by fallen chains and a chaotic, crimson pattern. She was standing behind me, slender and pale, an apparition in the faint moonlight. Her half-lidded gaze revealed no trace of fear, and at that moment I did not know what to make of her expression. Sorrow… if anything.

_She_ was here. The girl from the izakaya!

I froze. She could not be allowed to live.

_No witnesses._

None, apart from my 'minders' and the other Ishin Shishi, could witness my actions and walk away. But this was different. She was innocent, and I had never killed a woman.

I was torn; for the first time, I hesitated to lift my sword.

"I followed you because I wanted to say thank you." Her voice was barely audible; it reminded me of the soft fall of petals. "They say, at tragic scenes, a rain of blood falls..."

I noticed the spray of red across her kimono; from far away it could have been part of the detail. From where I stood, it was an abomination.

_How could you?_

A pattern of blood marred one flaweless, alabaster cheek. I could not turn away.

_You idiot!_

How could I kill this girl? How could I have even _thought_ about it? Self-loathing uncoiled once again, and this time it was darker; deeper. She was perfect, with skin so white it could have been painted, and eyes of liquid black. Sorrowful eyes.

I wondered how she could stand so still, surrounded by death, spoiled by the same blood that stained my hands. What kind of person was this?

As the silence gathered around us once again, her voice drifted across; a whisper, mingling with the black disgust that rose inside me.

"_But you really made it… rain blood_."

The bloodied sword fell from my hand, and I stared and stared, unable to tear away from her gaze. Time seemed to slow to the point that I was aware of my deep breaths and the paradoxical hammering of my heart. Everything was black and white and red, and as she closed her eyes I stepped forward to catch her.

She fainted into my arms.

* * *

Kaoru knew the woman Kenshin was talking about was Tomoe-san. He hadn't mentioned her name yet, but from the way he spoke; his reverential descriptions and the grief that made his voice low and painful, she could not be anyone else.

This was the woman who had been Kenshin's wife. Kaoru was aware of Tomoe; on a few rare occasions, he had let her name slip. But Kenshin would soon erect his walls and wear that strange expression which always caused her worry.

Kaoru never pursued the topic. She didn't know how to deal with this person, for she sensed Tomoe's impression was deeply carved.

_He had… loved her?_

Tomoe had seen Kenshin kill. She had stood under the rain of blood and watched the boy-assassin tear a man in half. Who had she been, to remain so calm in the presence of that horror? Kaoru knew she would never have reacted in that way. She would probably have screamed.

What kind of woman could have been with Kenshin, as he was then? His words lingered in her head, and a chill ran through Kaoru. _He had thought about killing her!_

Truly, a hitokiri should leave no witnesses. But Kenshin was Kenshin, and he had spared her, recoiling in horror, ashamed of his thoughts. No matter how far he fell, consumed by the hitokiri's darkness, he never would have slain her.

_So this is how they came to meet._

Against a backdrop of carnage and death, Kenshin and Tomoe had found one another.

* * *

**Author's note:** just want to say thanks for the reviews and encouragement. This is a bit of a writing exercise for me, so I hope the tone hasn't changed too much from the first chapters (which yes, I did write more than a _few_ years back ~ I guess my interests do fluctuate a fair bit), as I feel I am taking a few liberties with Kenshin's voice. All in all I have to say I love the manga to bits and could never do it justice, but the enduring story and startling imagery makes it good to translate into words. I don't really know why I decided to do it in first person; it just kinda happened that way.

Anyway, cheers. :)


	6. This Mess

_Floating in the darkness, fresh, red blood. _

_White sleeves, a purple shawl. _

_And deep, black eyes. _

She fainted into my arms. It must have been a natural reaction to the sight of so much blood. For a moment I stood in the deserted street, holding her, a pale wraith. She was light and soft; I felt as if I were clutching a doll.

But she breathed, and she was warm. The fragrant, yet pungent smell of sake lingered on her breath, mingling with her perfume. And underneath was the acrid, unmistakable blood-scent. Ever pervasive, tainting everything.

What was I supposed to do? Here I stood, in the dead of the night, in downtown Kyoto, with a girl in my arms. For a moment, the thought of silencing her had danced through my mind, an automatic conclusion.

How disgusting. As far as I had plunged into the hitokiri's brutal mindset, I could not contemplate _that_.

But she was alone; I couldn't leave her here, stained with blood, surrounded by a crimson mess. She was not supposed to be a part of this scene.

What a strange contradiction; violence washing up against one so refined, untainted. But then I remembered the sadness in her eyes. She knew grief; I wondered what she must have seen, for her to give me that look of silence; unfathomable. Her scent was making me dizzy; a dull pain started to throb behind my eyes.

Perhaps it was the after-effects of the sake, or maybe it was the white plum, clouding my thoughts.

Mingled with coppery blood. Such things should never be together.

It was making me crazy.

_Idiot_. I had to move. Who stands at the scene of a bloody crime for so long? I had no choice; she was coming with me. To leave a woman alone on the streets of Kyoto at night; it was unthinkable. I would have to take her back to the inn.

The journey was uneventful, even though she grew heavier with every step. My arms ached, and the blood which had been wet and slick before had become dry and sticky. My gi was stiff, and I was cold. I ached for a bath.

A few times I stopped in the shadows, taking a second to rest and adjust her unconscious form. Once I allowed her to lean back into my arms, just so I could catch a glimpse of her face. In sleep, her expression was peaceful, her breathing light. I could feel her warmth and the soft silk of her kimono. Where dry, it brushed along my arms, causing the fine hairs on my arms to stand on end. She was like a wild, captive creature. I could not believe I held her.

Such intimacy; and yet we hardly knew each other.

I shook my head and moved on, feeling guilty, as if I had somehow violated her. Deaths of hundreds on my hands, and yet I held her.

If only she knew...

But she had seen it, and stood still, her black eyes taking in the horror I had wrought. Her expression had been impossible to read; such a reaction, now that I had time to think about it, had surprised me.

Not what I would have expected, but she _had_ fainted. Perhaps I disgusted her; perhaps she was afraid. The thought of facing her when she woke made me nervous. How strange, that a woman whose name I didn't know could make me feel this way.

I had never been so close to a woman before. Although I hadn't thought much about girls, this was not what I had in mind for my first encounter. It occurred to me that if I were seen carrying an unconscious girl into the Kohagi, my intentions might be misinterpreted.

To hell with them. Most of Katsura's men tiptoed around me anyway, thinking I was some kind of man-slaying demon. Well, I was, wasn't I?

I told myself, as any stubborn sixteen year old would, that I didn't care what anyone thought. But I was still glad it was late, as most of the men had probably gone to bed.

I would try and make this as quiet and painless as possible. Senses extended, I tiptoed across to the back door with soft feet, sliding the shoji across with a quick, gentle flick of my hand. It was noiseless.

"I'm back," I whispered to myself, and it sounded more like a sigh of relief. I padded down the hall, and was stopped in my tracks.

"Oh Himura-san, you're home late tonight…" Okami-san, the innkeeper, appeared from nowhere, carrying a tray. I almost dropped the girl.

"Himura-san, what are you doing?" The old woman's eyes narrowed as she saw the slumped form I was carrying. I ground my teeth, cold, tired and annoyed at being caught unawares. But Okami-san was a wise, old lady with a quiet, complicated ki which I had trouble reading. It was so unlike the fierce, bright auras of the men I faced in battle that she often caught me off guard when I failed to sense her approach.

I would need to diffuse this situation in a hurry. I pulled my mouth into what I hoped was a nervous smile.

"It's not what you think," I stammered, beginning to feel as useless as I sounded. "Um, there was a fight, and she fainted, and…"

At this point, Okami-san's eyes were narrowed, her expression hard and skeptical. "Are you sure you didn't just get her drunk?"

_What?_ I glared back at her, offended. Did she honestly think that I would be capable of such a thing? At the time the absurdity of the situation did not register; me the slayer of hundreds, worried about bringing a girl home. There are far worse crimes attached to my name than getting a girl drunk.

But I hadn't done any such thing, and the fact that Okami-san thought I might have, well, it _bothered_ me.

She must have sensed my indignation, for her expression softened. I saw her eyes widen a fraction and realized she must have noticed the blood staining our clothes.

"This is not a teahouse." She was still admonishing me, but I could tell her heart wasn't in it. Her tone was soft, and underneath the stern words I detected a hint of nervousness. For her, the idea that I was bringing home a girl was better than the alternative. She had probably never seen any concrete evidence of my work before; I had taken to doing my own laundry. "Just this once… I'll get her some warm water and a change of clothes."

"Yes." I swallowed my pride, grateful that Okami-san had let me off lightly. It did not take her long to appear at my door, and I left to bathe downstairs while the old woman attended to the girl. When I returned, she was tucked into the futon, asleep. Her hair fell around her face, casting thin shadows across porcelain features and dark-lashed eyes.

Who would those eyes see when they opened? The murderer from the night before?

As I sat across from her, staring at her face, surrounded by her heady scent, I could not shake the image I had of her, silent, under a rain of blood.

_The smell of blood and the fragrance of white plums_.

I really was going crazy.

* * *

Kenshin paused, trying to gauge the reactions of his companions. He had sensed their surprise when he had started to tell his story, and wondered what they might have been expecting. As for that last bit, had any of them appreciated the irony of it?

Megumi had eyes had twinkled for a brief moment. Sano had seemed amused. But Yahiko and Kaoru?

He knew the young samurai was still hopeful, and Kenshin was not happy about the prospect of disappointing the boy.

But it was what had happened. The past never changes. These people had stood by him long enough that they deserved to know his truth.

It would not please them, but Kenshin knew the time for facades had long since passed. They had already seen enough of him to know he was more than a simple rurouni.

He looked across and met Kaoru's gaze, holding it for a moment before casting his eyes down, so they were hidden once more by his thick fringe. He couldn't bear that look for too long; it was too expectant; too nervous.

Fear and just a glimmer of hope.

What did Kaoru think of him now? What would she think when he had finished with this?

_I'm sorry, Kaoru._

For better or worse, they would learn exactly how he had come to this point.

_This mess I have made._

_

* * *

_

**Author's note:** Yes, sorry, I know I haven't updated for so very long, but I have been busy (usual excuse, etc). It suddenly occurred to me that I've got a hell of a lot of work to do, and less time to write. So the chapters might come a bit slowly sometimes. I'll try and get my act together a little better.

Thanks again to those who reviewed; I hope this chapter doesn't seem too strange with the first person then third person but it's the same person (hah!).


	7. Her Name

I opened my eyes to sunlight, which had flooded the room. Strange, that I had been able to sleep so late. It is not my habit to sleep past the crack of dawn. I closed my eyes, pain stabbing beneath my lids.

Too much sake, the night before. I looked across and saw the futon, neatly folded.

_The night before…_

I jumped up, my breathing wild and uneven as the memory flooded through me, jolting me back into reality. I hadn't been dreaming. There had been a girl, and I had brought her here.

She had been in this room, and I had allowed myself to fall asleep.

_Damn!_ I bounded down the stairs, yelling for Okami-san. Stumbling into the kitchen, I saw the old innkeeper passing a tray of food to the girl. "Here, why don't you take these in for me."

"Yes." Her voice was quiet, and calm. She did not spare me a glance. I stood in the doorway, unable to move. I could not speak.

_How had she…?_

This girl, who was as cold as a winter mountain stream, quiet, glassy and serene. She had awoken, dressed herself and folded her futon. Still, I had slept. It was true; her ki was faint and subdued, a mystery to me, as all women were. Now she was ignoring me.

Okami smiled, a glint in her eye. "Oh good morning, Himura-san." I detected none of the unease she had displayed the night before. "Despite appearances, your girlfriend is a very good worker."

_Girlfriend?_ I am sure I must have blushed. This situation; it was completely unexpected. For the first time in months, I was at a loss. I rubbed my head, looking down. She must have felt sorry for me, because she spared me a glance. "My name…?" She floated past me, and I caught a breath of her subtle perfume. It was intoxicating. "Tomoe."

_Tomoe?_

She did not glance back, and I stared after her. "Tomoe, what are you doing?" I blurted. My head was still reeling; what had just happened?

"Can't you tell?" Her question was clipped; abrupt. I detected a flicker in her ki; a slight hint of… irritation?

"Helping in the kitchen?" I stated the obvious, and bit back on my tongue. How stupid I sounded. Me, the infamous hitokiri, slayer of hundreds, rendered nervous and lost for words by this quiet, graceful creature. Sweat was trickling down my cheek; it dampened my neck and stuck to my gi.

"So you did know." She was headed for the dining room, and I trailed after her, a lost puppy. I had to regain control of the situation.

"Listen, I need to talk to you."

"I'm busy, ask me later." Just like that, she dismissed me, sliding the shoji aside. She kneeled, with the tray of food at her side.

"Ah!" I heard a gasp of surprise. There was a shuffle, then murmurs, and commotion. Soon a small crowd of the Ishin Shishi were gathered around the doorway, eyes wide. Some of them were grinning. I felt a warm sensation rising up my neck, reaching my ears. My stomach felt strange. I wasn't sure what all this meant.

Iizuka was the first to open his mouth. "So this is Himura's girl!" he exclaimed, his tone bordering on lecherous. I stiffened. A few of the men laughed.

"She's cute!"

The odd, warm feeling was suffusing through my face, reaching my cheeks. I did not realise my hand had dropped to my sword hilt.

"An older woman!"

"She's just like Himura!"

I was astounded that Tomoe could sit so still under their scrutiny, a pleasant half-smile curving her lips. "I'm Tomoe,. How nice to meet you." If I hadn't been so agitated at that moment, I might almost have thought she was gently teasing them… and me.

But the sight of those wide eyes and appreciative grins was enough to raise my hackles. "Knock that off!" I growled, shooting the men a glare. Iizuka took the opportunity to bait me further.

"What's wrong, lover boy?" he snickered, ruffling my hair. I bristled at his touch, teeth clenched.

"Iizuka-san…" I issued a low warning. The man let out a soft chuckle.

"So," he murmured, giving me a sly sideways glance. "How was she?"

The heat in my cheeks was now unbearable, but I doubt any of the men would have noticed, for I tensed, and shot them a murderous glare. With one hand, I slid my sword forward a little from its saya, my other hand ready to draw. No-one in that room misunderstood my stance and the men edged backwards. I could see pale faces and more than one expression of sheer terror.

I suppose my reaction was a bit excessive, but I was young, and didn't know how to handle this kind of teasing. I used to take all things quite seriously. Still, I felt a glimmer of dark amusement at their reaction. I saw Iizuka edge backwards, and whisper to his friend. I'm sure he didn't intend for me to hear. "That was close," he breathed. "I forgot he was the Battousai. Just teasing him is taking your life in your hands."

It was back to _that_ again. I stiffened my resolve. The men had gone silent, all their earlier mirth erased. I looked around, surprised at their numbers. It seemed as if the entire Ishin Shishi had come for a look at my new 'girlfriend'. Were they nothing more than idle gossips? I closed my eyes and sighed, exasperation creeping into my voice. "If everyone's here, what's to become of our clan?" I suddenly had room to breathe. I felt the air cool; the sweat on my face had started to dry. "Katsura-san's security should be the most important thing right now." I turned to look pointedly at Iizuka, who stepped aside. I froze.

Katsura was seated at the end of the room, sipping his tea, his face unreadable. I must have visibly started, for I am sure I heard someone snicker.

"I had no idea the Choshuu Ishin Shishi were so laid back," I grumbled, biting my lip. I fought to keep the red flush from creeping up my neck.

Katsura took all this in his stride. "Affairs of the heart have nothing to do with your ideals," he assured me, with a small nod. "After all, I have Ikumatsu." My eyes widened at his openness. Katsura's lover was a famous Kyoto geisha; I had seen them together on a few occasions. Each time I had wondered at how Katsura acted so differently with this woman. When she was present, I had the distinct impression he was more relaxed.

But it was none of my concern. Ignoring the stares, I addressed him directly. "May we talk seriously for a minute?" I looked away, composing my features.

"Certainly." I waited as Katsura finished his tea. "That's more my nature as well." He stood and gestured for me to follow, leaving Tomoe and the men in the dining room. I clenched my teeth, but said nothing.

Katsura led me to a small, secluded garden. The sun was now high, the day growing warmer.

I told him of last night's events, watching his face carefully as I described the man who had tried to kill me.

"Is that true?" His tone was even, measured.

"Yes. I was ambushed by a shogunate assassin." The words fell between us, hanging in the silence. I searched Katsura's eyes. "Information from Choshuu is being leaked out," I warned, "even about our greatest secret, the 'Battousai'". I detected a flicker in his ki, a small, anxious thread. But it was quickly extinguished. "There is a traitor in our midst."

"I've been thinking the same thing." Katsura turned away, leaving me tight-lipped and expectant. I wanted to know what was being pieced together in his mind. He betrayed nothing.

He paused and looked back at me. "There's one other thing. Furudaka, who was meant to be at the meeting during the Gion Festival tonight, was captured by the Shinsengumi yesterday."

I nodded, disappointed. The news did not surprise me. In the past six months, the Shinsengumi had become increasingly vigilant, no doubt as a result of my efficient work. I was beginning to understand how Katsura planned the murders; they were strategic moves, designed to heighten fear.

And with the Bakufu increasing their offensive activity in response, Katsura was in greater danger than before.

"So you'll take a bodyguard after all?" If not me, one of the other, more skilled Ishin fighters should be present.

"No, I'll be all right." Katsura declined the offer, his tone gentle. "But I want you to be careful."

I felt the urge to protest, but I held my tongue. My instinct was telling me to shadow this man; to watch for traps and other hitokiri and the bloodthirsty Shinsengumi, but I had to trust Katsura's judgement. He had not yet proven himself wrong.

Which made him all the more prized a target. The leader of the Choshuu Ishin Shishi was the centre of all this. A sense of unease spread through me, and I stood very still, watching Katsura as he walked away. The traitor needed to be found, very soon. With even the smallest of mistakes, everything would be lost.

I could not let that happen.

* * *

Kenshin's eyes were no longer wide and full of sadness; they had become clear and cold. He was not looking at any of them; his gaze seemed to be directed into the darkness, as if he were seeing something else. Yahiko squirmed and shifted, feeling uncomfortable. He searched the faces of his companions, nodding back at Sano, who looked very serious. Kaoru was staring at Kenshin, her mouth slightly open.

Yahiko could sense the determination in Kenshin, not only in this part of the story, where he had been intent on protecting Katsura at all costs, but also _now_. He was telling them what had happened. He had to carry on. A while back, Kenshin had stopped talking for what seemed like a long time, and they had sat in silence, unsure of what would happen next. Now the words were coming more easily, the story moving along. Yahiko got the same feeling he sometimes sensed when Kenshin was about to face an opponent, however this time he had no sword; he could only speak.

Whatever Kenshin was going to say, it probably wasn't going to be good. Yahiko knew from the way the swordsman looked at Kaoru sometimes, as if he were about to break some really bad news.

_It doesn't matter, Kenshin_.

Whatever Kenshin told them; whatever he had done, Yahiko didn't care. He knew Kenshin had done bad things in the past; that much was obvious. But Kenshin was sorry for the things he had done. He didn't kill any more.

Yahiko knew that, in the end, he wouldn't change his mind about Kenshin, no matter what had happened before.

* * *

**Author's note:** Hiii… I'm back – surprised? Yes, I FINALLY got another chapter up. It's because I'm on holidays, for a little while at least. Thanks to all those who reviewed last time around – your thoughts and comments are always appreciated.


	8. Different Truths

I found her upstairs, eating. She did not notice me as I stood in the doorway, half-shadowed, watching as she moved the chopsticks with nimble fingers. She picked up a small piece of pickled vegetable and chewed slowly, savouring the taste. I saw the late afternoon light playing across her face, casting fleeting shadows. She turned and looked out the window, still unaware of my presence.

I felt rude; I was an intruder here. I uttered a brief cough, alerting her to my presence, and she turned, her eyes revealing no hint of surprise.

"I'm sorry," I blurted, feeling anxious. "I was wanting to speak to you earlier."

"Yes, I know." She gestured for me to enter. I fought to make sense of the mixed emotions that had settled in me. Here I was, waiting for permission to enter my own sleeping quarters. She continued to eat as I found a seat on the windowsill, my back to the open shoji. I placed my sword beside me, and saw her gaze travel down the length of the weapon, before resting on my face. I met her eyes; saw something imperceptible stir in those brown depths.

"Listen, Tomoe-san." I shifted, uncomfortable. The small pause grew, turning into silence.

"Yes, Himura-san?" She was composed, no longer paying attention to her food.

"I… I think you should leave."

"Leave?"

"This is a dangerous place, Tomoe-san. The men living at this inn; they're fighting a war. It's not the kind of place…" I trailed off, unsure of how to phrase my wishes. How much more could I explain to her? She had _seen_ my work, first hand. She had been caught in it, evidence of my handiwork staining her kimono, her face. My small words felt inadequate. "That's why… I want you to forget everything you saw last night and leave."

Tomoe raised her eyebrows, in what was supposed to be an innocent expression. "Am I such a burden?" she protested, ever so gently. "Okami-san seems to like me." Underneath her softly, softly approach, there was steel. I could sense the subtle change in her aura; I was reminded of the anger I so often felt when facing an opponent in combat.

But this was a battle I was unprepared for. The only weapon I could use well was the sword, and here, it was useless. "Your family will be worried about you." From my mouth, it almost sounded like a plea. She closed her eyes, and in that moment, I faced defeat.

"If I had a family to go home to," she uttered, her voice low and full of pain, "I wouldn't be out drinking alone at night."

_Oh…_ I felt so stupid. She wasn't an ordinary girl. I felt a twinge of irritation at myself. How thoughtless. I had never really given much thought to what someone like her would be doing, drinking alone in that part of town. At night, in times like these. It was insane.

Feeling lost, I said the first thing that came to my mind. "I don't know what your situation is, but we're in no state to look after you." I tried to make myself sound cold; uncaring. I couldn't afford to have too much sympathy for this girl.

"Then will you finish me off," she bit back, the sharp edge of sarcasm creeping into her voice, "like you did that samurai in black?"

Where I had faltered before, I now became annoyed. Something close to anger made its way to the surface, and again I found the words. "You can think whatever you want," I shrugged, "But I'm doing this only to bring a new age where everyone can live in peace."

Tomoe didn't seem to be afraid of me, but it was clear there was some part of her that felt disgust at what I did. Of course, after seeing me slice a man in half, I couldn't argue too much. However, I needed to make something clear.

"I don't kill indiscriminately." I held her brown gaze with my own, imploring her to understand. I didn't possess the blood-thirst; I was not proud of the lives I'd stolen. "I only target armed members of the Bakufu, who oppose us. That might mean civilians who oppose us as well, but I would never strike an unarmed man."

Tomoe set her chopsticks down with an audible clack, a statement I did not miss. "So bad people carry swords, and good people don't?" Her question almost made my statement seem childish. But I stared through her, my belief unshakeable.

"Then," she continued, "if I had been carrying a sword that night, would you have…?"

_What?_ I shuddered, as I recalled the instinctive, horrendous thought which had danced in the back of my mind and shifted the tip of my sword towards her. Last night… that terrible thing had coursed through me; sometimes I felt it was bigger than me. It terrified me. I had crushed it, in disgust.

I could _never_.

"That's…." But how did I explain it to her? My hesitation cost me, for then she stood, gathering the tray of dishes.

"Well, when you have an answer for me, please let me know." Tomoe walked out of the room, sliding the shoji behind her, tabi-shod footsteps inaudible on the tatami.

I froze, astounded. What kind of person did she think I was? "Wait!" I called, but she was already gone. "You're just going to walk out?" There was a desperation in my plea. She ignored my call.

"Shit…" I ran one clammy hand through my hair, which had become damp. I breathed out, a long, confused sigh. Was I going crazy? I _knew_ what I was doing, didn't I? This thing I had been fighting for, and for so long already; it was far from over.

But just now, my control had wavered. My conversation with Tomoe… there was something mad there, some notion so implausible my stomach clenched and turned as it touched the edges of my psyche. She was a glimpse into it; I felt it, but I couldn't comprehend it.

I shook my head, lost. It didn't matter what she said, or did. Nothing could change the course I had chosen for myself. I would die seeing through this new era. My sword belonged to Katsura-san; my own life was of no importance.

_Was that true? _

Were things finally starting to make sense?

* * *

Sano sensed it. The uncertainty, the turmoil. Small glimpses of something big in Kenshin's life; a turning point.

He saw the play of emotions across Kenshin's face, and realised the former hitokiri was reliving the confusion he had felt. But something had long since changed; when Kenshin spoke of resolve and causes, there was no determination, no bitterness… just sadness. His words carried the kind of weight only time and experience could lend them. Perhaps some called it _wisdom_.

He tried to imagine how different the young Kenshin would have been. No different really, just naive. He'd seen the same steely will; the righteous anger, many times before. Imagine all _that_ channelled into a single cause. Sano shook his head. Katsura would have had a very sharp and deadly tool at his disposal.

And then all of a sudden this girl shows up? From what Kenshin had described, Tomoe was a proper, refined lady. Kenshin wouldn't have been associated with anyone like that before. No-wonder he spoke of feeling nervous and disoriented. Sano remembered his own first encounter with a girl he fancied and felt a sense of wonder. He looked up and saw Kaoru looking at Kenshin, but Kenshin wouldn't meet her eyes. This guy was still shy around women.

_He's so worried about what she might think, he can't meet her eyes._

Was that it? Not quite. Kenshin was considerate of others, but he wasn't a coward. After all, look at what he had told them already. Sometimes things could become buried so deeply inside, that pulling them out was like re-opening an old wound; one that hadn't quite healed properly. And they were probably still only at the surface.

No, Kenshin was certainly not a coward. Sano knew he would face the consequences of them knowing his deepest truths, and look them in the eye day after day.

Not that he should have to worry anyway. Sano accepted Kenshin as he was, former hitokiri or not. It he couldn't look at them right now, Sano understood. Kenshin was not entirely here. Part of him had gone backwards, to a place he thought he might never visit again.

It was obviously very, very difficult for him.

* * *

**Author's note: **Hi there, sorry for the length between updates. I know leaving a story for so long can make you forget where you were at, but unfortunately I have little spare time to enjoy (sigh… usual excuses… but it's true!). Until I can revisit my RK obsession again, I will grind on… Thanks to those who have the patience to stick with me and leave kind (and constructive) reviews. I hope this chapter meets your expectations.


	9. Madness, Slowly Tempered

In the two weeks after that conversation, things were no clearer to me than before. There had been no epiphanies, no revelations. Just the certainty that one night, not long from now, a black envelope would be handed to me. I would open it, and memorise the name; another bloodstain on my conscience.

Any hope of salvage was impossible, there were already too many black marks upon me. They would always remain. I felt trapped in my own cold world, and the nights and days continued to pass me by, barely noticed except for occasional glimpses of sanity. These saved me. The dread that suffused me; the feeling of tense anticipation; these were punctuated by small reminders of that most important fact: yes, somehow I was still alive. I should be happy.

Most days, I did not feel it was possible. Over the past few months, I had become a wraith, doomed to drift about the izakaya, unattached, unwanted. What passed through my mind was obscene; visions of killings and murder. Wholesale slaughter replayed itself in my waking dreams. I was a lost spirit. The other Ishin soldiers, for the most part, avoided me. And I did little to encourage their friendship. How aloof and detached I must have seemed. Sometimes I felt I might as well have been dead.

But I was alive, and lately, something had been coming back to me. There were times when I almost felt _human_ again.

Times like now, for instance. From my position on the windowsill, I turned to see the shoji being slid aside. Tomoe was standing there, a broom in her hand and a scarf tied around her head, protecting her lustrous black hair. She was looking at me as if I were no more than a piece of dust, hindering completion of her chores.

"I'm going to clean this room now." She grasped the broom handle as if it were a bokken and I the practice target. "Please leave for a while."

I had been lost in thought, and my guard had slipped. In all honesty, her abrupt entrance had startled me. A wave of irritation flooded through me, and I felt my eyes narrow. This girl had such strange effects on me.

"I don't remember asking you to clean it," I snapped, clutching tighter the saya of the katana which rested on my shoulder. "The room is not really that dirty."

Tomoe didn't even blink. "Okami-san asked me to." She stepped past me and began to sweep from the corner of the room. I looked across and noticed a small pile of dirt forming at her feet.

I sighed, the spell of my earlier musings broken. Well, this argument was just about over then. I needed a place to be alone, but this room was no longer mine. I well and truly had a roommate, and she was showing no signs of leaving.

As I stood, I glanced down at the table beside me and saw a book I hadn't seen before. Its cover was simple; plain white. There was no title. "What's this book?" I asked, making a point of not looking at Tomoe. If she wanted to be abrupt with me, I could be equally cold. The sweeping stopped.

"That's my diary." For some strange reason, her voice cracked. She lost a little of her usual composure. "Don't read it, please."

I shook my head. Whatever it was, I wasn't interested. I told her as much.

"I was just making sure."

Okay, fine. Her personal affairs were none of my business. I left the room, ignoring her. She had interrupted the stillness I had so carefully wrought around myself, and now I was edgy. Being cloistered in the izakaya for almost two weeks had done little for my peace of mind, and at times, I felt it was on the verge of shattering. Which was why I groaned inwardly as I felt a familiar presence behind me.

"Hey, Himura…" I turned to see Iizuka wave. A little smile curled the corners of his mouth. I felt my features falling into the impassive mask which had become second nature to me. My earlier unsettlement exploded into full-blown, savage darkness. Iizuka following me meant only one thing.

Iizuka broke into a grin. I almost snarled.

"What's up with you, Himura?" Oh, how I wanted to test my katana on him. "Why the long face? Have you had a fight with Tomoe?" He was having fun with me.

Well, there was no reason I couldn't play with him a little too. I turned and shot him the meanest glare I could summon. My thumb inched the katana from its scabbard, just a little. This was one of the few times I was happy to take advantage of my fine reputation. It wasn't hard; the vicious anger which had seethed below the surface for weeks came rushing forward, all at once.

Iizuka stumbled backwards, unable to control the naked fear which had stolen his expression. That was enough. I sheathed the katana with a click and heard his relieved sigh.

"Okay, I'm sorry." His apology was more to appease me than anything else, but it would do. "What's eating you?"

"Did you want something, Iizuka?" I wished he would come to the point.

And then it was in his hand, and my earlier rush of fury was forgotten. A familiar icy calm stretched its fingers through me, and I took the black envelope from his hand. The paper was stiff and cold in my fingers.

"It's tonight. Take care of it."

I nodded, and walked away, dismissing Iizuka. Although he was only the messenger, in that moment I resented him. It had been the smile; the taunting. Such things did not go hand in hand with a black envelope. But I suppose everyone had their own way of coping.

As I made my way down the corridor, I tore the envelope open. A single name imprinted itself in my mind, the handwriting neat and impersonal.

Very well. I turned on my heel, wanting the sanctuary of my room, but then froze. I couldn't let her see me now, not with this. I would need to disappear, until it was done.

I surprised them, appearing from behind. Five of them all together; my target and his bodyguards. The sound of steel being drawn split the still night; Four blades gleamed, fangs bared in the moonlight. I was having none of it. I wanted it over, already.

"For the sake of the new era…" My voice sounded hollow. I couldn't finish the sentence. They were staring at me, a strange mixture of fear and indignation written so clearly in their eyes.

_How dare you?_

Were they shocked at my audacity? Five against one, and I was nothing more than a lithe young stripling. Barely fifteen, and the guarantor of their deaths.

Did they see it in me? I am not sure how I must have looked then; I must have been terrifying, for as I rushed forward, they could do nothing but hold their weapons up, and fail. To me it looked like they were fixed to the ground; they could only move at half-speed as I felled them, my katana as swift and hungry as ever.

Four down, and their master had tried to flee, thinking he could outrun me. I could hear his heavy, laboured breathing. His daisho hung, untouched, by his side. He knew they would be of no use. I was beside him in a few steps.

I could slay him now, from behind, and he wouldn't know better.

But I wanted to see his eyes.

_If I had been carrying a sword that night, would you have…?_

No, never.

He turned, and I could see it, as if for the first time.

Despair.

My blade became dull, the cut not as clean as it should have been. It lacked power; it lacked speed. But he died all the same. Just like the rest of them.

I flicked my wrist, and his blood flew onto the paving stones, a vicious, dark red spray. I could feel eyes on me, and sensed a nervous ki, hidden in the shadows across from me.

I stared long and hard into that alley, until the aura of the person watching me wavered and dimmed, in submission.

_Did you see that, watcher?_

For the first time, I had hesitated to kill.

* * *

The water was cold, and I allowed it to flow over my hands, back into the bucket. Small rivulets of blood-tinged wash water, returning to the whole. My hands did not feel any cleaner. The water was the palest shade of rose, and my hands were numb.

I welcomed the icy sensation as I scrubbed the last fragment of dried blood from under my fingernails. My hands were more than clean, but I wasn't finished yet.

I became aware of her, standing in the doorway, staring at me. I did not want to meet her eyes. I couldn't.

She stood still for some time; perhaps she thought she was watching me in secret. I could not bear her scrutiny. What did she think of me?

I was a wretch; how could I even share a room with her? She knew what I had been doing tonight; her stillness said as much.

I continued to drive my hands through the freezing wash water, unable to look up. I wanted to dive into the bucket and banish my thoughts. I wanted to erase the feeling which had gripped me now.

Despair.

"Do you intend to keep killing like this?" She was staring at me, and still I couldn't meet her eyes. I wanted to be alone.

_Do I have a choice?_

No answer came to me; there were no excuses for this. For her to see me like _this_.

_I kill for the sake of the new era…_

* * *

Tsubame knew she shouldn't stare so openly, but she couldn't keep her eyes off Kenshin.

As he told his story, his voice had become quieter, more subdued. At times, he spoke so softly she barely heard him. And all the time, he was sad.

This was an entirely different person to the Ken-san Tsubame knew. That man was always smiling, always laughing. That man was impossibly polite and kind. The person he spoke of now… was this really how Kenshin had been? It sounded like he had been almost driven to madness.

_He had only been fifteen_. And he'd already killed all those people. Tsubame couldn't imagine it. Of course, she'd always known Kenshin was a great swordsman, but she hadn't really known much about his past. It had shocked her to learn that he was really a feared hitokiri from the Bakumatsu; a person who had done terrible things.

Tsubame wasn't sure how she should feel. Was she now afraid? No… that wasn't it. She knew Kenshin would never pose a threat to any of them. And yet…

She shook her head. She still couldn't believe it.

But the way Kenshin spoke, the way he looked down for too long then glanced at them, his eyes wide and haunted; it meant everything was true.

Kenshin had been a fifteen year old killer. How were _that_ Kenshin and the smiling rurouni she knew the same person?

At the start, Kenshin had told them he killed his wife with his own hands. That had made Tsubame go very still, her heart hammering. _There is no way…_

Kenshin wouldn't do a thing like that.

_The wife I killed with my own hands. _

It had to be a way of speaking; he was only blaming himself. Ken-san was too good a person. He had only ever shown her kindness. Tsubame remembered the gentle way he always spoke; he always had a nice word for her.

How could he and the Hitokiri Battousai be one and the same?

Tsubame didn't know what to believe. It seemed impossible, but somehow, the things Kenshin was telling them now; they were all true.


	10. Doubt, Faith

Sometimes, when I sleep, I cede my body to that _other_. It happens even to this day. You may have heard me, on occasion, for my consciousness is thrust into waking whenever I fight for control.

In my dreams, I am a spectator. Hands that are mine, arms that are mine; they move with damning surety. And my weapon is a katana. The sakabatou does not belong here. There is no need.

I am a spectator, and yet I am also so aware. With every fatal thrust or killing stroke there is not a flinch or hesitation. I _never_ falter.

Heads fall, bodies are severed at limbs, torsos; in _half_! The smell is coppery, bitter, acrid, visceral. My hands are covered in it, but this is of no consequence. All stains can be washed away.

In the moment, I am focused on one thing only. The katana is no longer restrained and it takes over. In the dark I know its feel, its exact length and shape, the way it meets air, wind, cloth, tissue and bone with the least resistance. The tsuka moulds to my grip like a second skin and the blade becomes as much a part of me as my evenly beating heart.

A steady pulse, which quickens only with every clean, measured, savage blow. These movements, drilled into me through thousands of repetitions, are like drawing breath. This is the technique's purpose, realised. And in that, there is a chilling satisfaction.

I recoil in horror, willing the body to stop, wishing I did not feel this way. For that _other_ is me. I use my strength, pushing forward with teeth clenched, because there is _nothing_ that can overcome me…

* * *

**NO!**

Every fibre of my being screamed it. My eyes snapped open. My katana was free, and several things inside me fought at once. To finish, to follow through, was the natural reflex.

Yet I brought up my other hand and pushed her away, sending her tumbling to the floor. The sharp edge of the blade bit into my arm guard and I stopped just short of severing my own wrist.

Her scent was all around, tormenting me.

_How __**could**__ you?_

It had saved her. I gasped, and the katana wobbled in my grip, which had become loose and greased with sweat. Yet I never dropped the blade.

The possibility of what _might_ have happened flooded through me, and I trembled, unable to choke back deep, heaving breaths. My pulse hammered.

What the _**hell **_had I done? Guilt transformed into self-loathing.

"I'm sorry," I choked, unable to look at her. I couldn't bear to see that expression of fear, coming from _her_. She said nothing, and silence stretched between us, punctuated only by my own rasp as I gulped for air. The folds of my gi clung to my skin, now clammy. I felt as if I were being suffocated.

She would despise me now. It was not what I had intended.

"I bragged that I would never kill a civilian and now look at me." Bitterness had crept into my voice. "If you had come any closer, I would have…"

I couldn't bring myself to say it. It horrified me too much. I shrunk back, unable to bear her scrutiny. My body felt week and limp, the life-force sucked from it.

_You have every reason to fear me_.

There was a light scuff, the sound of her feet on the tatami, and I was sure she was leaving. But when I looked up, she stood before me, a blue scarf in her hands.

The sight pierced through me. She had seen me, asleep, with the window open. I became aware of the cold morning air; it dried the sweat on my face. She had wanted to cover me, to keep me warm.

I cursed those instincts within me that found danger at every turn. They had already cost me.

Still, she edged closer, her liquid brown gaze meeting mine, revealing no trace of fear. Despite the fact that only moments ago, I had held my blade to her throat. She dropped the scarf into my lap and I stared down at that intense blue, the colour of an iris blossom.

I didn't know what to think. I was bewildered, lost.

What she said then was the last thing I expected.

"Let me stay here for a while." There was something in her voice I had never heard before; I couldn't fathom what it meant. "What you need now is a sheath, to hold back your madness."

_She is not afraid of me._

I could not speak. The idea of Tomoe wanting to stay with me was too absurd. But as I looked into her eyes, I believed her. I realised my heart was still beating too fast.

An emotion swept through me; I had never felt this before, but it was something I recognised. It astonished me with its ferocity.

For I knew with certainty that I would give my life for this girl.

"You asked me before whether I would have killed you, had you had a sword." My voice cracked as I spoke, the words low, barely audible. Tomoe's face was smooth and expressionless, belying the intensity of her ki just then. It struck me that she already knew the answer to her question.

"I could never do that. Not to _you_…" I trailed off, clutching the scarf. My hands no longer trembled.

When I looked up again, she was gone.

* * *

Kenshin was doing it again, that thing where he looked down, his eyes masked behind his long fringe. But Kaoru could see the set of his jaw as he talked, and the way that every so often, one of the hands resting in his lap would tense, just slightly.

That was it. Apart from the cadence of his voice, which was laden with years of unspoken feeling, there was no display of emotion.

She had been afraid when he spoke of killing, of the night-visions that still tormented him. She had seen glimpses of darkness in him before, and it had terrified her. His words only served to confirm what she had always known. There was a part of Kenshin that was capable of such things.

It was wrong to think of the Kenshin they knew and this _other_ he spoke of as two separate entities. They were inextricably linked.

That was what had kept him from killing Tomoe.

Kaoru recognised all too well the fierce, protective tone in Kenshin's words as he had come to his conclusion.

_I could never do that. Not to you…_

But she had caught a different impression when, after that statement, he had paused, his shoulders slumped. He seemed to tremble, and took a moment to compose himself.

_Oh, Kenshin. _

Was this the echo of a broken promise? This Tomoe… what had she done, to force Kenshin's hand?

Kaoru found herself caught in time, not wanting to hear what he would say next, but _needing_ to. She could not help this feeling of dread, which been growing with every word. And with the doubt came guilt, for her trust had somehow become a fragile thing.

_Have I… misjudged you?_

Before this night was over, she would truly know the man who sat beside her.

* * *

**Author's note:** Yup, it is definitely exam time again, because what else would I be doing during study week but writing? I'm sorry it's been a long time; I've been doing a bit of overseas travelling and schooling and soforth.

This chapter is also a bit of a shortie, but I felt this particular incident needed to stand alone.

And just to get off topic, I thought I'd share this site: tvtropes. org/ pmwiki/ pmwiki. php/ Main/ RurouniKenshin (remove spaces), which provided me with a bit of entertainment. Ah, the dedication of fans.


	11. The Savage Night

In the days that followed, we settled into a kind of routine. I thought it was the closest I would ever get to experiencing 'normal life'. The only difference was that instead of working during the day, I earned my living at night.

And of course, what I did was far from ordinary.

Tomoe had become a welcome addition to the Kohagi's workers. Okami-san was kind to her, even protective. Before meals, she helped in the kitchen, and in between, she cleaned, sewed and washed, making herself invaluable, and at the same time invisible. Even the men started to accept her; she no longer drew curious stares.

They thought we were lovers. As a result, her presence was even welcomed by some. They thought she would be good for me; the way I was, for a sixteen year old, that wasn't _normal_. Perhaps this girl would bring me around, make me talkative and social like the others. Our apparent relationship was reassuring to them; I too had needs, desires.

The emotions _were_ there, somewhere.

But we were not lovers, and I could never be a normal sixteen year old. I did not become more outgoing, or relaxed. I did not talk more. After the initial adjustment, life did not change too much.

Except that she was there. We did not speak too often, but we did share a room. It was a surprise to me that after the day I drew my sword on her, Tomoe seemed to become comfortable in my presence. She would no longer stare at me so much, but instead went about her business, unassuming. It reminded me of the way Shishou and I would not speak for such long periods of time, while I went about my chores and he read, or worked on his ceramics. We were both aware of one another, but there was no need for words. We just existed, together.

Sometimes, during the day, I was able to rest. It was strange, but when she was there, the visions of slaughter evaporated. My insomnia disappeared, and I was granted the gift of dreamless sleep.

At night, I would fulfil my assignments. And always, when I returned, she would be awake. She no longer questioned me about my work. Instead, she would be ready with the wash water.

Had she understood that I was uncomfortable with her seeing the blood? She never lingered while I cleaned. Maybe she had also sensed what I felt; that I needed the time alone, to pull myself back into the world, away from that wild, cavernous place.

Sometimes I felt it would envelop me.

But it was easier to come back when I knew there was a hot bath ready, along with a fresh yukata and a futon rolled out. I needed to return, because she would not sleep until I came to bed. I wondered how much rest she really got, with me tossing all night. She never complained.

What a difficult companion I must have been.

I do not know what she read in my behaviour, during our first days together. As it seeped into my waking life, the detachment I embraced in my work made me unsettled. I became less and less certain of how to act around ordinary people. Sometimes, my thoughts were shot through with anger, and my temper became short.

Except with her. In contrast, her presence seemed to have a calming effect on me.

Even though we rarely spoke, I started to look forward to spending time with her, and it did not take me long to learn of the small things that distinguished her. Everyone has them; traits known only by those who are close to us. They come from within and are shaped by the course of our lives. These minute details can be deceiving. Yet like signs in the earth pointing to a deep vein of gold, they can also be rewarding, if read correctly.

My own quirks are not hard to decipher.

Since coming to Kyoto, I had preferred to sleep in the sitting position. I still do, from time to time. With washing, whether it be hands or laundry, I am on the verge of obsessive.

She had her notebook, which she wrote in every day. And most of the time, the faint scent of white plum surrounded her. Her ki was impenetrable to me, like that of most women. She preferred the side of the room closest to the window. When she slept, her hair was untied.

From observation, I was learning so much. But every time I tried to piece things together, my progress would be interrupted by the savage night. The killings held me back.

And so the days passed in this fashion, growing longer. Tomoe and I continued in our odd routine, and the cool nights became warm and humid, strung through with the drone of crickets. The black envelopes came, I murdered, and in the world beyond us, forces were assembling.

Soon, Gion Matsuri was upon us, and now we return to where I left off before, having declined Katsura-san's invitation. After the meeting, I had returned to my room, weariness tugging my eyelids.

I was sleeping when I felt the warning thread of an intrusive ki. Although I kept my eyes closed, I knew it was Iizuka. Tomoe sat beside me, mending a tear in my sleeping yukata.

"Hey Himura!" He shattered our mutual silence. "Let's go! After Gion Matsuri, we're gonna hit the red light district…"

"Quiet, please." Her soft voice hid an iron resolve. I knew Iizuka would not get far. "Himura-san is finally asleep."

As Iizuka left, sliding the shoji shut behind him, I felt the disappearing trail of his ki; it was tinged with surprise. Then all was quiet, and I felt myself drifting…

My eyes snapped open.

"What is it?" She turned to me. Her hands, still holding the needle and yukata, dropped to her lap. "Iizuka was just…"

Something was wrong. I caught the aura of a man in distress; it struck me like a kick in the chest.

_Katakai_.

He burst in, tearing the shoji aside. Iizuka was not far behind.

"Himura!" Katakai's eyes were wide, his broad shoulders heaving as he struggled for breath. His moist brow glistened; sweat streamed from him.

Something was _definitely_ wrong.

"Katakai-san." I rose, keeping the alarm from my expression. Katakai was one of Katsura-san's bodyguards; the fact that he was here sent dread coursing through me. "You're supposed to be guarding Katsura-san at the meeting."

Katakai's large frame quivered all over. His face, drained of colour, was pale; his eyes were ringed with shadow. He looked like a man who had come close to death. "The Ikedaya has been raided by the Shinsengumi!"

"Information is being leaked out!" Iizuka stood alongside him, frantic.

I froze, unable to speak. Blood pounded through me and my senses became taut, stretched so I could hear the rasping breath of the two men. Katakai's panic clawed at me and behind it I could feel Iizuka's thin tremor of anxiety.

I could almost hear their hearts, hammering away.

"What about Katsura-san?" The worry burst from me like a crashing wave, spreading wide. I was unable to contain it any more. My thoughts were racing chaos.

And underneath, I caught and held the familiar thread of anger. I was a volatile mess; impulsive and _very_ dangerous.

If something had happened to Katsura-san…

"The meeting started before he could reach the Ikedaya, so the head of Tsushima went in his place." My expression must have been fierce, for Katakai took a step backwards as I stared at him. "Because he was taking a nap, he narrowly avoided the disaster. But Yoshida-san, and Miyabe-sensei and the others…" Katakai lowered his eyes.

The simmering anger exploded into rage. It wiped my mind clear; I forgot them, forgot Tomoe sitting beside me. Everything we had worked for had been destroyed in a single night. I saw the revolution ground back, strangled.

This was the work of the Shinsengumi.

It spread through me; a terrible, destructive force. I could feel my self-control imploding, giving way to madness. Disaster had swallowed us, and I had not known a thing about it.

My ever present guilt found a new direction.

I should have been there.

I could have done something.

I was inconsolable. Only one thought kept hammering through me, like a mantra.

_They will pay._

I strode forward, channelling the rage, honing it into pointed intent. I could reach the Ikedaya by going over the rooftops, cutting across streets. It would not take me long, and whoever was still there, whoever was responsible…

"Wait, Himura!" Iizuka grabbed my arm, pulling me back. He was shaking, his face mashed into a desperate grimace. He did not know how close he had come to being struck by me… or perhaps he did. The last shred of my composure forced me to hesitate, and somehow, I heard what he was saying. "It's too late!" Even if you go now, you'll never make it in time. And there are over three thousand Bakufu soldiers out there. Fighting now will only make things worse for Choshuu."

It had been the right thing to say. Perhaps Iizuka knew me better than I had thought. Or maybe there had been something else; a pair of black eyes, wide and imploring, appealing to more than just my reason.

They had plucked me from a raging torrent; Iizuka with his blunt logic and Tomoe, who hadn't spoken at all.

As I looked at her, my self-control returned, settling over me like a blanket of snow. The mad anger, the lust for revenge; both disappeared, leaving outrage and guilt entwined. These went deep inside me, but they would resurface later, when I would draw on them.

I stepped back, freeing myself of Iizuka's grasp. His slow, loud sigh was a sign of his relief. Katakai was still staring at me, his eyes bulging. His pale face, clammy with perspiration, shone in the dim light.

I noticed the sewing needle, still held in Tomoe's grip, between her thumb and forefinger. Her pale hands were draped across her lap, amongst folds of cotton.

The silence from earlier returned, except now it was heavy, underscored with the inevitable.

This was a bad night indeed.

We had all been swept into something bigger than we could have imagined, and at that moment, it felt as if the course we wished history to follow was nothing more than fantasy. Our ideal was swallowing the very lives it was supposed to value. How many more men and women would be broken as our nation was shaped? All we could do, as we were pushed and dragged down this long, revolutionary path, was hope that the choices we made now would prove, someday, to be the right ones.

Trust your reasons; hold firm to your beliefs. That is all one can ever do.

* * *

Sano tried to picture it; the younger Kenshin, full of anger, incited to revenge.

That emotion was a terrible thing; he had seen men consumed, eaten away by powerful obsession. It turned people into twisted distortions of themselves; they did things they never realised they were capable of.

The thought of Kenshin being overwhelmed by those feelings sent a thrill of fear through Sano. Volatile, impulsive, and so young. It could have ended in a massacre.

But Kenshin had held back at the last moment. There had been too much at stake. His desire for change; the girl, Tomoe; his own sense of reason. He was bound by the very things that mattered to him. And that was the way it should be.

Sano could see that even when he had been a hitokiri, killing hundreds, glimpses of the Kenshin he knew would have been there. It was a paradox he had never been able to comprehend, but as Kenshin unravelled his past, adding in the small details; the things that were important to him, it was beginning to make sense.

Like all of them, Kenshin's fate had become caught up in the onslaught of events. The difference was that he had the ability to force things in one direction or another. Taking a life could do that.

In Kenshin's mind, there was no forgiveness for what he had done, but Sano knew he would never have stood back and let injustice pass him by. That would have been far worse.

So in the end, because of what he was, and _who_ he was, Kenshin had made his choice.

Sano only feared that the price he paid for that had been far too great.


End file.
